Cliché Works For Us
by WingDawn
Summary: Percy meets the love of his life in the most clichéd way possible.


Percy meets the love of his life in the most clichéd way possible. He spills coffee on her.

"Fuck, sorry-" he falters. Not because the girl standing in front of him is breathtakingly beautiful – she 's that too, of course –but because she has the scariest glare he's ever seen.

"I'm sorry?" he offers, weakly. The glare intensifies. Forget the _if _in 'if looks could kill', Percy's certain he is going to die under the pressure of that glare. He starts imagining what his gravestone would read. Probably something along the lines of –

Here lies Percy Jackson,  
the dumbest person on the planet  
for spilling coffee on the girl who'd  
kill him with her grey steely glare  
R.I.P you moron

Who would attend his funeral? Probably only his mom, Paul and Grover.

Maybe that girl he lives across the hall from, who gives him a smile every time she passes him in the hallway. Probably not the receptionist at the library, who always glares at him when he comes in because he'd returned that copy of _Allies and Axis_ two days late that one time.

His mom would cry, wouldn't she? He doesn't like his mom crying. He doesn't want to die, he has important plans for this Saturday! Plans to relax and play video games with Grover all day! And his kids would definitely miss him. What other teacher lets them wile away one hour at least once a month, making paper planes when they should be studying history?

_Please don't kill me, _he prays mentally.

"What?"

Okay, so maybe not so mentally.

The girl is scowling now.

It's almost comical. Percy standing guiltily with a half empty cup in his left hand. A gorgeous blonde, grey-eyed girl standing in front of him with the left side of shirt and left sleeve drenched in coffee. At least her voice doesn't sound serial killer-ish. But then, what does he know about serial killers? All serial killers might have rich and smooth but sharp and calculating voices. Actually, now that he thinks about it, all serial killers probably do sound like that.

He ducks his head and gives her a sheepish smile. He hears a sharp intake of breath from her. Maybe she's trying to restrain herself from strangling him?

But all the air seems to go out of her when Percy looks her in the eye because she says, "I'm not going to kill you," and starts tugging at her dripping sleeve. She probably figured killing him wasn't worth going to jail for.

"Um, here," he offers her the napkins he had wrapped around his coffee because it was too hot, which were miraculously coffee free.

She's wearing a white shirt, which Percy realizes is definitely going to make matters worse. He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out for her.

She stares at it blankly for a moment, before slowly reaching out and taking it.

"Thanks."

He shrugs and gives her a small smile. "It's the least I could do for all the –" He gestures uselessly to her shirt and his coffee helplessly, flailing a bit.

She puts his jacket on and he can't help but stare at her for a moment. She really is beautiful, even though her hair is tied in a messy ponytail and half of her white shirt, hidden under his too big jacket, is now brown. She's carrying a dozen files and Percy feels like he should offer to help her, but he doesn't even know where she's going.

She slips her hand into her jeans pocket and retrieves a phone.

"Here." She passes it to him.

His face must betray his confusion because she says, "For your number so I can return your jacket?" Her tone seems to imply that she clearly thought she should've added the word _dumbass _to the end of that sentence.

He types his number in, and saves it under, 'Percy Jackson a.k.a the idiot who spilled coffee on me'.

She takes it back and her lips quirk upwards when she glances at the screen. "Annabeth," she says.

"Huh?"

She sighs. "My name? Annabeth Chase."

He gives a grin and says, "Nice to meet you. See you around, Annabeth."

When he walks away, he could swear she was hiding a small smile.

* * *

Two days later, his phone rings.

"Percy? This is Annabeth. The girl who you –"

Percy interrupts with a, "I remember."

"So do you want me to mail the jacket it to you or do you want to collect it person or maybe –"

"Do you think you could give it to me in person? I'm not entirely sure you're not a homicidal maniac who might murder me in my sleep if I give you my address," he says and wow, that last part was not supposed to come out.

There's a pause on Annabeth's end of the line. He can almost imagine her quirking an eyebrow at him with a bemused look. There's a sigh.

"I have no intention of murdering you Percy," Annabeth tells him.

"I don't know that!" Percy insists.

"Fine, where do you propose we meet? It has to someplace public. I'm not entirely convinced you aren't an axe murderer either, and all this suspicion of me is just a front to lure me into a false sense of safety," she says.

Percy can't stop a wide grin from spreading across his face when he says, "Miss Chase, would you like me to meet you for coffee?"

Annabeth sound amused when she replies, "Only if the coffee promises to stay off my clothes."

"I think those conditions are reasonable."

They discuss the details and Percy tries not to smile too widely when Annabeth ends the call with, "It's a date. See you next Friday."

* * *

Annabeth spills coffee on him when he tries to surprise her on Friday.

* * *

By the time Percy reaches home, he's already decided their kids names will be Xander and Pheobe. That is, of course, if Annabeth wants to have kids.

* * *

Their kids are named Zoe, Derek and Lydia.


End file.
